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“Geralt, you are being so difficult today,” Jaskier grouses dramatically, hands resting on his lips as he levels Geralt with a look of pure exasperation, “here I go, trying to be a good friend to you and setting you up with the love of your life-”
“Well the love of my life will have to survive without me,” Geralt retorts, his eyes not leaving the screen of his iPad, “right now, I need to beat Triss’ record on this level in Candy Crush.”
“Wow. Dear heart, can’t you see how much you need to get out of this flat? When was the last time you cracked a window open? And how many days’ worth of dishes are currently sitting on your draining board?”
Geralt curses under his breath when the game tells him that he's out of moves. Deep down, he knows that he can’t realistically blame Jaskier for the loss, but the constant nagging certainly didn’t help with his concentration. And not only is Geralt out of moves, he’s also out of lives . Great. Triss gets to live another couple of hours knowing that she bested Geralt in this stupid game. In a huff, Geralt locks his iPad and drops it next to him on the couch with a long-suffering sigh.
“My dishwasher broke. Haven’t had the time to order a new one,” Geralt finally admits before pushing himself onto his feet and heading into the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. He hands Jaskier one, who just stands and stares . “What? Don’t want a beer?”
“Geralt, it’s not even lunchtime yet,” Jaskier tells him, unable to hide the horrified tone. Geralt shrugs and returns one bottle to the fridge. He uncaps his beer with his bare hand, a party trick that used to impress girls (and boys) alike when he was eighteen, but those days were long gone now.
“It’s Saturday. I’ve had a long week.”
“Even more reason to get out of here,” Jaskier insists, swooping in to snatch the bottle straight out of Geralt’s hand before the latter has a chance to take a swig. Geralt closes his eyes and mentally counts down from ten. Jaskier is a pest on most days, but he is Geralt’s friend, so Geralt doesn’t really want to snap at him. But Jaskier is making it really hard not to.
“I told you, I’m not going.”
“Well that just won’t do.” Jaskier empties the contents of Geralt’s bottle down the sink. “I already told him that you agreed to meet him. Today, at 2pm for a coffee.”
“You what ?” Why does shit like this only ever happen to Geralt? Why him? Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose, biting back the irritated groan that threatened to push past his lips. “Jaskier, why would you tell him that without, oh I don’t know, consulting me first ?”
“Because I knew you’d say no,” Jaskier’s tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s discussing the weather, “and it took me exactly three months to convince Eskel to agree to this blind date, and I will not have three months of my life go to waste just because you’re a cantankerous bastard who refuses to try out new things.”
“Well you’ll have to tell Elliot-”
“ Eskel . Elliot? It doesn’t even remotely sound like Eskel!”
“It starts with the same letter!” Geralt snaps, feeling his irritation grow with each passing minute. “Jaskier, how could you set me up on a blind date? I… you know how hard these past couple of months have been. The divorce, the custody battle…”
“Geralt, I’m not asking you to marry him at first sight,” Jaskier reassures him, his tone dangerously close to patronising , and Geralt thinks he might just strangle Jaskier and throw his body in the river, “or to fuck him, for that matter. All I’m asking is that you meet him. For a coffee. Now, that’s not gonna kill you, is it?”
“It might.”
“You’re such a child.” Jaskier rolls his eyes pointedly at Geralt’s pettiness. “Fine, let me make you another offer. If you agree to meet Eskel for coffee, I’ll buy you a new dishwasher.”
“You’d do that?” Geralt questions suspiciously. “Why do you care so much anyway?”
“Because, my dear friend,” Jaskier takes on grand airs, just like he always does before going on a rant about poetry. Oh, here we go . “I’m a poet. I’m a lover of love, I’m a matchmaker at heart. Call me a hopeless romantic-”
“Or just hopeless,” Geralt mutters under his breath, ignoring the glare that comment earns him.
“As I was saying, before someone rudely interrupted, call me a hopeless romantic, but I think Eskel is the perfect match for you. He’s kind, smart, settled… you know, all the things you aren’t. Balance is key in a relationship.”
“Fuck off, Jaskier. I don’t care what your views are on the matter, I am not going on this date. And nothing you say or do will change my mind.”
__________
“There we are,” Jaskier announces proudly as he parks his car outside of a quaint-looking coffee shop that Geralt swears he’s never noticed before, despite the sign’s insistence that the establishment has been around since 1874. " The Rosemary and Thyme . It’s lovely in there, but it’s also Eskel’s favourite place to mark papers.”
“Wait, Eskel’s a teacher?”
“Yes. He’s a colleague of mine. Teaches history.” Jaskier removes the imaginary fluff off Geralt’s clothes, then takes out a bottle of cologne and leisurely sprays it in Geralt’s direction. The thing smells vile, too musky for Geralt’s taste, but Jaskier looks so thoroughly pleased with himself nonetheless. Bastard. “He and I bonded over our passion for reading, though. So that’s one thing you can ask him about.”
“I don’t read.”
“Yes, yes I know, but you probably shouldn’t take so much pride in that. Well, not if you want to impress Eskel, anyway.”
Geralt bites the inside of his cheek, his patience wearing thin. He doesn’t even want to be here, much less impress anyone. Fuck, how did he end up coming anyway? Oh yeah. Jaskier ended up guilt tripping him. After all I’ve done for you, Geralt. All the support, and the late night calls after the divorce, and the good references for your custody trial. Does our friendship mean nothing to you. Damn Jaskier, and his stupid ideas. If this date goes horribly wrong - and it will , Geralt just knows it will - then Jaskier will owe him big time. Geralt will get his friend to pay for a new dishwasher.
“Don’t want to impress anyone. If it’s meant to be, he’ll love me for who I am.”
“Ahh, see?” Jaskier beams at him, which always forebodes trouble in Geralt’s experience. “You’re already warming up to the idea. Don’t you worry Geralt, my friend. Eskel will love you, I’m 90% sure.”
“Only 90%?” Geralt hates how insecure he sounds in that moment.
“Yes. The remaining 10% is me factoring in the possibility that you’ll blow it, but I know Eskel, and I know that it will take a lot for you to blow this date.”
Jaskier sounds so convinced of this that Geralt almost wants to believe that he’ll end up enjoying this coffee date with this mysterious Eskel. Wait, no scratch that. He’s not ready to date again, not so soon after the divorce. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, which is easier than to admit that he hasn’t had a date in… let’s see, Ciri is thirteen now, so that means… yep, the last time he had a “date” with anyone who wasn’t Yen was far too long ago. He’s rusty, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’ll just end up making a fool of himself.
“Geralt?” Jaskier offers a small smile. “Breathe. You’ll be fine, stop worrying.”
“Pff,” Geralt huffs, avoiding Jaskier’s gaze, “I’m not worried.”
“Splendid. Now go inside, chop chop.”
Geralt raises an eyebrow when he checks his watch and finds that they’re, in fact, fifteen minutes early. Why should Geralt wait inside for this mystery date to appear? Geralt hates surprises, so the thought of waiting inside The Rosemary and Thyme … what if he’s stood up? What if Eskel only said yes to get Jaskier off his back, which, come to think of it, is entirely possible knowing how irritating Jaskier can get when he’s got an idea in mind. Fuck, no Geralt couldn’t possibly…
“You’re not worried, huh?” Jaskier asks, his tone growing more and more teasing, and Geralt doesn’t appreciate the implication in the slightest. “Geralt, you’ll be fine.”
“Can’t I wait to see if he turns up first? I could stay in the car, you let me know when you see him, and-”
“No. First impressions are always important, and knowing Eskel, he’ll be there in five minutes anyway. He will appreciate your punctuality.”
“Jaskier, please!” And no, Geralt is not whining , thank you very much, he’s merely voicing his displeasure and pleading with his friend to stop being a stubborn ass about this. What if Geralt doesn’t want to impress this Eskel guy? What’s Geralt got to prove, anyway? He’s not looking for a partner, or a date, not even for a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement. Why can’t Jaskier understand that?
“He’s just as nervous about meeting you.”
“How would you know?” Geralt grouses, willing away the migraine threatening to settle right behind his eyes. Jaskier waves his phone in Geralt’s face in response.
“Because I’ve been texting him all morning. He’s a worrier, bless him. Kept asking questions about you, wanted to see pictures…”
“You sent him pictures of me?” Geralt can’t quite explain why his heart suddenly starts racing in his chest at the thought. Why is he nervous? He doesn’t give a fuck if this Eskel likes what he sees or not. “Jaskier, does privacy mean absolutely nothing to you? You can’t just go around showing other people’s pictures to random strangers?”
“Do you want to see a picture of him?” Jaskier asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Of course I want to see a picture of him, Christ.”
Listen, Geralt won’t deny that he’s a hypocrite. So what? If Eskel knows what Geralt looks like, then it’s only fair that Geralt knows who exactly he’s meeting, too. Jaskier ponders the request carefully, then hums when he comes to a decision.
“Nope. If you want to know what he looks like, you’ll just have to go in there.”
“What if I refuse?” Geralt challenges, instantly regretting his words when he sees the mischievous glimmer in Jaskier’s eye.
“If you refuse, I’m sending Eskel all the embarrassing pictures of you when you’re drunk. And the videos, too. I’ve got plenty, including the video from your 40th birthday party…”
Oh shit. Geralt blanches at the thought of anyone seeing that video, much less a virtual stranger who could do whatever he pleases with it, and… well, it’s not like that video has the potential to ruin Geralt’s career. Jaskier is annoying, but he’s not a monster. But Geralt is… dumb when he’s drunk, and he was so very drunk on his 40th birthday… and that video, oh dear God, that video! How could Jaskier keep such a monstrosity on his phone, anyway?
“You’re evil.”
“Trust me dear heart, you don’t know the first of it.”
“God, I’m so glad you and I never dated. You’re the kind of psycho who keeps nudes and sex tapes for blackmailing purposes.” Geralt heaves a long-suffering sigh. Thank god the video Jaskier mentioned doesn’t involve any nudity, even if Geralt does make liberal use of his potty mouth in it. Yeah, maybe Yen was onto something when she kept blaming Geralt for Ciri’s use of foul language around the house. “ Fine . I’ll go inside. But you owe me a fucking dishwasher.”
“Have fu-un,” Jaskier sing-songs, and Geralt wishes he could wipe that shit-eating grin off his friend’s face, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Those words, coming from Jaskier, mean precious little considering Jaskier is a magnet for trouble, but Geralt doesn’t remark on that. Instead, he steps out of the car and heads into The Rosemary and Thyme .
__________
Eskel hates being late.
He sees it as a lack of respect, so he usually makes sure he arrives early for any appointment he may have, but he didn’t expect his car breaking down in his driveway, leaving him with less time than anticipated to make it to The Rosemary and Thyme for his blind date. He knew he should have just given this a pass, but Jaskier had been so insistent. Three long months of back and forth between him and Jaskier, Eskel had finally given in just to get Jaskier off his case. After all, when Jaskier realises just how hopeless Eskel is at dating, then he’ll likely never want to set him up with any of his friends ever again. Still, Eskel’s reluctance doesn’t justify being late.
This whole dating business just seems to get more and more tedious the older he gets. No one should be made to run from the bus stop to a café at age 42.bHe gets there five minutes late, which isn’t dramatic, granted, but Eskel still feels mortified when he steps into the coffee shop, slightly sweaty and out of breath, looking around for the mystery man with green eyes and white hair. Yeah, the white hair had been a surprise the first time Jaskier showed him a picture of his date, but Eskel knows better than to judge a book by its cover. At least he’s able to spot the man easily in the crowd. He’s sitting at a table in the far corner of the café, not the spot Eskel would’ve chosen, but he arrived late didn’t he, so he shouldn’t get a say in the matter anyway.
“I’m so sorry,” Eskel apologises as soon as he’s close enough for Geralt to hear him, “I do apologise, it’s not like me to be late, but my car broke down, and the bus was late, and-”
“It’s fine,” the man tells him, the rough baritone of his voice startling Eskel at first, but admittedly the timbre is not unpleasant, “life happens.”
“Still, it’s rude to show up late,” Eskel insists as he takes a seat, ignoring the way the man’s eyes linger on his scars. He’s used to curious gazes by now, it stopped bothering him a long time ago. They’re part of him now, and if his blind date finds them repulsive, well at least Eskel will know where he stands. “If I make plans, I turn up on time, it’s just how I work.”
“To be fair, it’s not you who made plans. Jaskier planned this for us, and I didn’t find out until this morning that I was supposed to show up here.”
Eskel huffs out a surprised laugh at the revelation, especially since he’s known about these plans for a whole week now. Knowing Jaskier and his terrible organisational skills, he had probably just forgotten to tell his friend about the blind date, and Eskel texting him this morning reminded him. Oh, Jaskier. Incorrigible.
“What’s he like,” Eskel shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his scars, “wouldn’t change him for the world, but he can be exhausting. Name’s Eskel, by the way.”
“Geralt.”
Do they shake hands? Do they fist bump? No, that’s ridiculous. Do they just… sit there and smile awkwardly at each other? The other man looks so stoic, his face schooled into a neutral expression, and Eskel doesn’t know what to make of that. He’s been told before that he has a very expressive face, and he wasn’t shy about showing emotions. An open body language and friendly expressions are key when working with teenagers in the school, especially with a face like his, which is likely to scare any kid when they first look at him. He doesn’t blame them, to be fair.
“So, uh, Geralt,” Eskel starts, wondering where to take the conversation from there, “what’s your poison? I’ll buy.”
“Why?”
The question takes Eskel entirely by surprise. Geralt is staring at him suspiciously, like he half expects Eskel to retract his offer and make him pay his own share. Or worse yet, the entire bill.
“Because we’re on a date,” Eskel offers as a simple explanation, “but if you prefer splitting the bill, that’s fine by me.”
Eskel’s been on many dates in his life, not that he’s bragging, and he knows that some people like to pay their own way on a first date. Eskel respects that. He’s seen it all. He’s paid for coffees before, been treated to expensive meals as well, and he certainly won’t be offended if Geralt decides to split the bill. If anything, Eskel will be secretly relieved. He needs to fix his car, and whatever’s left in his bank will have to last him until the end of the month.
“I’ll pay for my own coffee,” Geralt eventually states, “I’ll have a black coffee, two sugars.”
“I’ll go put the order in, then,” Eskel tells him before rising to his feet and heading to the counter. The minute Eskel is away from Geralt, he takes a deep composing breath. He needs to calm down. It’s not like he’s taking an interview, it’s a blind date. This isn’t anything new, not really, minus the fact that Eskel usually knows who he’s meeting on these dates. But Geralt seems… well, nice isn’t quite the word. He’s not said much and seems to be the type to keep his cards close to his chest.
Eskel orders Geralt’s black coffee, and a latte for himself. They say that someone’s coffee order says a lot about their personality. Well, how about that; even Geralt’s order doesn’t reveal a single damn thing about his personality. Unless his personality is ‘dark and bitter’… but he did ask for two sugars, so maybe there’s a hidden sweetness to him that Eskel didn’t get to see. God, he’s starting to sound like Jaskier.
When Eskel brings their order to Geralt’s table, he’s almost surprised to find that the man is still there. Eskel half expected him to bolt the first chance he got.
“Here’s your boring black coffee,” Eskel tells his date as he places the cup in front of Geralt, “and two sugars, as requested.”
“Thank you.” Geralt takes the two sachets of sugar, pinches them at the top and shakes them, because that’s something people do before they open sugar sachets, apparently. Eskel never really figured out why, but the way the muscles in Geralt’s forearms ripple is too distracting and Eskel decides that he likes it when Geralt shakes the sugar sachets.
Damn, it’s been too long since Eskel got laid, and it shows!
“So, Geralt. Since we’re here, might as well get to know one another better. What do you do?”
“Oh, uh…,” Geralt looks like a deer in the headlights, and Eskel almost wants to laugh at the sight. Poor guy acts like he hasn’t been on a date in, well, forever. Geralt’s awkward dorkiness is adorable, as far as Eskel’s concerned. “I’m a nurse at the hospital.”
A nurse? Yeah no, Eskel would never have guessed, not if he had a million guesses at his disposition. Geralt doesn’t… look like a nurse. He looks more like a… not a nurse, that’s for sure. What happened to not judging a book by its cover?
“Oh, I didn’t expect someone like you to be a nurse.” Eskel replays these words in his mind, and yes, he hears just how bad they sound in retrospect. Damn, Jaskier can never find out about this. “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just… well I just didn’t expect you to say nurse, and…”
“Jaskier tells me you’re a teacher?” Geralt interrupts Eskel’s rambling, thank fuck for that , because Eskel might just have carried on digging a hole for himself if Geralt didn’t stop him.
“Yes. I teach history at Morhen High,” Eskel offers before taking a sip of his coffee. Why is he so nervous? It’s certainly not because he keeps thinking about these rippling muscles. “Boring, I know.”
“I enjoyed history in school,” Geralt admits, then manages something that’s desperately trying to be a smile, but turns out more like a grimace. Eskel is starting to doubt that Geralt wants to be there at all. Maybe they should just end this charade now before they embarrass themselves further. Those aren’t the next words that come out of his mouth, though, because it turns out that Eskel enjoys embarrassing himself, apparently. His ex Letho told him it’s a kink, but everything was a kink with Letho.
“Really? Any period in particular?” Eskel asks, clutching desperately at his cup until his knuckles turn white.
“I enjoyed learning about the World Wars. Took a class at college, but dude kept talking about Europe in the Middle Ages, so I quit.”
Eskel doesn’t blame him. His speciality is the American Civil War, and he’s only ever touched on the medieval period at university. It just wasn’t his thing, but sometimes needs must when the devil drives, like his father used to tell him.
“What’s your favourite period, then?” Geralt asks, and something unfurls in Eskel’s chest at the other man’s interest. Maybe this date wasn’t all hopeless, in the end. Eskel discreetly takes a composing breath and relaxes in his seat.
“American Civil War,” he rattles off easily, “specifically the role of slavery during the war. Wanted to write a PhD thesis on civilian responses to union occupation in Saline County, Missouri during the war."
“You have a PhD?” Geralt asks, and oh , is that admiration he hears in his tone? Too bad Eskel has to disappoint him.
“No. Never got the funding I needed. So I went into teaching instead, and I’m happy there.”
There’s another dip in the conversation, where both parties try to figure out where to take it from there. Geralt is staring at his coffee like it will reveal life’s secrets to him, and Eskel is wrecking his brain for a topic, any topic , and the bitter anxiety settles in the pit of his stomach again. It’s Geralt who breaks the silence again, with the most unexpected question.
“Not to be nosy or anything, but how did you get your scars?”
No one had ever asked him that question so openly. There’s usually a lot of tiptoeing around the topic of his scars, and how Eskel came by them. People always worried that asking would send Eskel in a rage, or cause him to clamp up and end things immediately. Eskel is actually fine discussing the accident, he’s embraced the scars at this point.
“Car crash when I was at uni. Young and stupid, got into a car with a drunk friend, who wrapped the car around a tree. Lucky to be alive.”
“Shit,” Geralt breathes between them, “sorry, I… was your friend okay?”
“Oh yeah, we were damn lucky. Think that day was the first time my dad raised his voice at me. Saw me in the hospital bed with bandages around my face, hugged me, then started yelling at me.” Eskel laughs fondly at the memory. “Feels like yesterday.”
“If my daughter pulled that kind of stunt, I think I’d lock her up and never let her leave the house ever again. Grounded for life.”
Oh. A daughter? Eskel sees the opportunity and instantly seizes it.
“You have a family?” he asks, suddenly hoping that Geralt isn’t a married man, because Eskel is certainly not interested in becoming Geralt’s affair. Geralt nods, his eyes softening at the mention of his daughter.
“Ciri, my baby girl. Don’t see her as much as I’d like, she lives in the City with her mother.” It at least sounds like Geralt and Ciri’s mother are separated, which greatly reassures Eskel. “You have, uh, kids?”
“Nope,” Eskel grins, “not really a lady’s man, though I’ve got a goddaughter. Deidre, she’s just gone off to college though. Doesn’t really count. So I’m assuming you and Ciri’s mother are separated?”
It doesn’t hurt to double-check now, does it?
“Divorced,” Geralt confirms, but Eskel can tell that it’s the kind of topic that his date would rather not linger on. Fair enough. Eskel isn’t really in the mood to talk about his exes either, so he’s quick to change the topic of conversation before the uncomfortable silence is allowed to stretch any longer.
“Any hobbies, then?”
“Hm. I own a horse, Roach. She stays in a stable just outside of town. The Wolves of Morhen, know them?”
“Do I know them? Only my father’s business.” Eskel laughs out loud when Geralt’s eyes widen in surprise.
“You know Ves? Does that make Lambert your brother? No offence, but God, he’s a prick.”
“Yeah, he probably deserves that title,” Eskel admits, his abs hurting from laughing so hard, “he’s a good kid, though.”
“You two don’t look alike at all,” Geralt remarks, having suddenly grown very chatty, “I mean, not all siblings do, but you’re just so… nice , and he’s… not.”
“He’s my half brother, though I never make the distinction.” Eskel leans back in his seat and wraps an arm around the back of the chair. “Want the long story, or the short one.”
Geralt decides to hear the long version of the story. So Eskel tells him about his childhood, growing up with Vesemir, his father, the town’s only sheriff until he retired several years ago and set up a riding school for the local kids. Eskel’s mother died young of cancer, leaving Vesemir to raise his only son alone, while also juggling a full-time job and his own grief over his wife’s death. Vesemir never was the same after Eskel’s mom died. Eskel’s education was strict, but Vesemir was never cruel and Eskel wanted for nothing. When Eskel was fourteen, his father worked a domestic violence case. A young woman, Lambert’s mother, sought out the sheriff’s help after her husband took to beating up her five-year-old son. She had endured years of beating at his hand, but the minute her husband laid a hand on her son, she decided that enough was enough.
One thing led to another, and soon Vesemir and Lambert’s mother, Lucy, were dating. She moved in and married Vesemir within the year of moving in. It took Lambert… a while to warm up to Eskel, and even longer to tolerate Vesemir. They’re closer now than they’ve ever been, and Lambert has his own way of telling his family that he appreciates having them in his life.
“Sounds like your father’s a good man,” Geralt remarks when Eskel finished retelling his life story, “I never knew mine, and my mom wasn’t really cut out to be a mother. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she looked after me. Fed me, clothed me, put me into a good school, but… yeah. There was no warmth, no hugs, no birthday parties or praise for bringing home good grades.”
“I’m sorry,” Eskel offers with a heartfelt tone. Being a teacher, he sees that kind of parent on a regular basis. He also sees parents who don’t bother with the necessities, like food and clothing, and who don’t give a single flying fuck about their kids’ education. And Eskel takes it upon himself to help those kids that don’t get any support at home, because those kids also deserve to feel like someone believes in them.
“It’s fine. I just need to do better by Ciri. I am doing better by Ciri.”
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s half the battle. I admire you, you know? Being a single father and all. Can’t be easy.”
“It’s not.” And for the first time, Geralt rewards Eskel with a small smile, a genuine one this time, and Eskel’s heart warms at the sight. Geralt clearly loves his daughter to the moon and back, that much is clear. She’s the only one who can bring a smile to his face, at least. “But she’s damn worth it. Little she-devil, full of mischief, just like her old man used to be.”
“Well maybe one day you should take her up to the stables,” Eskel offers before he has a chance to keep his tongue in check, “that is, if you want to. I, uh, keep my stallion over there, and… well, one day we could maybe go for a ride together. Not necessarily with Ciri, of course, unless you want to, but I, uh… urgh, fuck .”
There he goes, rambling again. God, Geralt makes him feel so flustered, it’s ridiculous. It’s just like Eskel’s back in high school, meeting his crush for the first time. To his surprise, however, Geralt smiles at him , this time, and fuck that realisation does things to Eskel. His heart starts doing stupid things in his chest, his stomach flips and he suddenly feels very flushed around the chest, and the heat rises to his cheeks. Blushing like a schoolgirl on her first date. Great.
“I’d like that. Without Ciri at first, though. Just you, me, Roach and…” Geralt stares expectantly at Eskel, clearly hoping he would fill in the blank.
“Scorpion. My horse’s name’s Scorpion.”
“You, me, Roach and Scorpion. Next Saturday work for you?”
That sounds an awful lot like they just settled on a second date, and damn, Eskel is excited for it. He can’t wait to learn more about this mysterious, emotionally-distant Geralt. Good thing Eskel is a patient man - he’ll wait as long as it takes for Geralt to open his heart to him.